I Am a Literary Giant in Tokyo

As a recommended book list for modern Japanese literature, it is qualified. As for the author's post-reading feelings expressed through the readers' supporting characters, there are more private goods. Just ignore it. What you should read when reading is the original work itself, not some nondescript Douyin or B station introduction. The starting point is also the starting point. In terms of plot paragraphs, after the actual ending of "Snow Country", the full text ends just right; at most, it would be superfluous to arrange for the protagonist to commit suicide after the publication of "Disqualification in the World". In the routine, there is the possibility of writing a unit sketch like "Late Night Canteen". Maybe it is due to the writing power, maybe it is to cater to the taste of Qidian readers, but it fell apart. Although it is a pity, it is also expected. Finally, the book "Disqualification in the World" should never be recommended to young literary readers.

In an era where all kinds of cool writing genres are overwhelmingly available, those who can persist in writing no matter what, are commendable for this book, which is dubbed the literary youth genre. I am not too unhappy and don't really care. I just want to be a eunuch. Everyone knows that writing this kind of article still requires solid knowledge as the basis and considerable writing power as the motivation. I hope Shima Koma's story can be longer, and let's keep up the good work.

It is indeed a good book, but there are some contents that we can explore in depth. The advantages are too obvious. Opening the book, we fell firmly into the Japanese land in the spirit of these literary giants. As an optimist who is not interested in Japanese works, I also vaguely experienced the fresh life of this narrow land of Japan. The kind of struggle between heaven and earth, society and self that tried to surpass fate, but ended up sinking. I had passion, but in the end they were in pain. In the article, the protagonist's "works" come out at the right time, leading the trend of thought in Japanese society. People open the book and become followers of the protagonist's words. They complete a self-analysis and sublimation in the secret analysis and magnificent and wonderful unique feelings that are never revealed in their mouths. The same is true for us ordinary people. Without the help of cultural reading materials, it is difficult for us to have this kind of self-knowledge to complete self-judgment and self-transformation. The writings of the "Meteor" writer quoted in this book have an extremely touching science popularization effect for Japanese culture newbies like me. But the shortcomings are even more obvious. The characters that lead to the two books "Unworthy of the World" and "A Man Called Ove", the drunkard and the tramp, appear without warning and have obvious meanings, more like symbols. They are the scenes, driving the movement of the plot and the operation of the novel. This leads to the creation of characters that are too thin, and even the protagonist has become a tool for arranging symbols into the proof formula. The protagonist opens his arms under the big tree. This is a ritualized action, often with metaphors, but the author rarely has any ink and skips it in one stroke. This action of linking emotions becomes a symbol with no beginning or end. The protagonist is like a machine driven by oil (such a symbol), rather than a natural expression of a legend. (This is not even the life of a mortal god, like an expressionistic lunatic) What did the tavern owner's daughter, the thoughtless savior, do? Like an incompetent mother who lacks parenting knowledge, she opens her hands to try to help the protagonist escape from the highly spiritual loftiness and narrowness. She mechanically practices ethics that emphasizes caring, and degrades the good protagonist into nondescript. She, a typical Japanese girl, seemed so pitiful that she lacked maternal qualities. How could she bear the responsibility of embracing a young man who was as generous as the sun in conveying his thoughts and was so mature that he withered? The author's writing is beautiful, but bloated and boneless. Internet literature, this genre requires a spectacle-like plot and charming characters, coupled to create an unstoppable experience. Finally, don't throw the protagonist to the ground, I will hate you for a long time.

To be honest, when I learned about this book, it was introduced by a friend. To be honest, I didn't read it at that time. I just put it on the bookshelf first as an alternative for book shortage. Today, when my friend and I were sitting together for dinner and chatting, he talked about this book again. He said that the author of this book was a bit literary. This made me interested in this book. After all, in this period, the mainstream of online literature is mainly focusing on imagination and creativity. My friend, like me, is also an old bookworm for many years. It is somewhat rare for him to comment on "literary youth disease" in Internet articles. At least in terms of style, it should be able to make him feel that it is in sharp contrast with most Internet articles. After dinner, everyone said goodbye and returned home. Lying on the bed with nothing to do, they opened the book. I have to say, it really made me feel the smell of cooking in a restaurant after reading too many online articles about fast food that are heavy on ingredients and oil. It reminded me of myself who suffered from literary youth syndrome for a period of time before college. At that time, my writing style was not as good as that of the author. It can only be said to be a pile of gorgeous words. Looking back, I felt a sense of shame that I wanted to slap myself in the face. Later, my writing style became more mature, but after I went to college, the piles of theoretical reports in the engineering major turned me into a person who could only write argumentative essays. The author's writing style really brought back memories of my youth and made me read the existing chapters in one go. Then, I realized something was wrong. Looking at the time displayed on my phone, I saw that it was already the next day and I had to go to work. I must have been in a sluggish state in the office today. I immediately put down my phone and tried to fall asleep, wanting to make some amends, but the memories of my youth kept resurfacing in my brain, and something was stuck in my chest, preventing me from falling asleep. After struggling between sleeping and not sleeping for a long time, I knew that I would probably get sick again after many years, so I typed these words here casually. Looked at the time again, it's almost three o'clock, I have to go to bed I swear I really want to go to bed, Emmm... Boss, please forgive me for having to fish with pay today.

Written first: I know there is no point in me being long-winded, but I just want to. Some of the best-selling books I once read when I was confused became more vivid and vivid through the author's interpretation and analysis. Reading them was not only a review of the classics, but also a conversation about my past life, which made me immersed in it. My impression of online articles is that of fast food, but here I found a cup of hot tea to sip slowly. While enjoying it, I am still a little worried: Most of the literary works in the book dig deep into the heart. Although the more painful the digging is, the deeper and wider the impact will be on the outside, which fits the temperament of the Internet article "crushing the heroes and slaughtering the world", just like the deeper the roots of a tree, the more leafy it will be. However, after all, it is difficult to deal with the relationship between the unity of opposites between the inner heart and the fame in the world. In the end, where will the tree in Xiaoyuan go? This is, in my opinion, the biggest difficulty. Looking forward to the author's decision.

{"TopicId":"1026456364660817920","TopicName":"The first time I opened I was a writer in Tokyo"} I was attracted by this book as soon as I downloaded the Qidian app. I think the biggest feature of this book is the author's great literary talent. There is a scent of books between the lines. It is impossible to write such words without many years of reading experience, let alone the insights into Japan and love for words that others think they can cultivate by reading more Japanese comics, novels, and movies🫶! As a high school graduate, I feel that the author must have a pure love for literature in his heart, which is completely opposite to the unhealthy trend of pursuing fame and wealth in today's society. I dare say that he is a breath of fresh air in the online literary world! There may be slight flaws in the creation of certain characters and plots, but I think Dada's writing style is definitely not something that others can imitate. These are my true feelings and I support Lu Banjin! ! ! Continue to catch up

The author teacher writes very well! The bottom of the night turned white. It perfectly demonstrates the beauty of Japanese mourning. I just hope I won't be tricked My cat is a town

Such as looking for spiritual comfort in the prosperity of the fast era, and looking for upward desires in ordinary life. In the past, I might have thought that the writing was good, but lackluster. After all, there were more people writing, but now I feel that my mentality has become more stable. In modern society, this is the delicate comfort of your writing, which fascinates me. Come on, author! ! !

{"TopicId":"1026456364660817920","TopicName":"The first time I opened I was a writer in Tokyo" was a year ago. I was attracted by this novel story and plot. Although there are similar articles everywhere nowadays, tracing the source is indeed the author at the beginning. The author's writing skills are really strong. Reading books is like reading people. It's really good. I hope you can draw me, I want to drink milk tea🥤

I don't understand why a copywriter is being pretentious. It's not you who wrote it.

Hahaha, the protagonist just deceives outsiders to get money. Why does it feel like he has been deceived? I'm just curious about one thing. When the protagonist's future wife and children look at the talented protagonist with admiration, will the protagonist feel ashamed?

To be honest, this article is my ideal type of copywriting, but it is not about copying something that will make me famous or make money, but what happened to me and what I felt, and I want to pass this feeling on to others. Loneliness, nostalgia, feelings, from being incompatible with this era, to having a nail to anchor this world, it really feels good. I am used to seeing all kinds of provocative, domineering, arrogant and arrogant copycats, none of which are written straight out of the mouth, and all kinds of articles are broken down because of the theme of the competition. At least this is an article that I think will be naturally expressed based on the feelings I encounter, rather than written for something.

The copy of the copy goes to the brain, is it self-impressed? If you really want to write about literati, why not be original and copy it in a pretentious way?

The author must have offended someone. Reading a novel, a group of people still want to ask the author to write a literary masterpiece. Now the requirements for authors are so high?

After reading the chapter about disqualification in the world, let's talk about this book. Not like a novel, but like a collection of reflections on Japanese classics. The first three chapters are good. There are stories, plots, and conflicts. The protagonist wants to contribute to improve his life, and he specifically chose the Snow Country. Then one of the unique pretentiousnesses of the literary youth who are addicted to human food begins - writing about loneliness... Without the "sadness and loneliness" writing power, the end result of writing about an independent protagonist is that the protagonist quickly becomes a symbol, without even a sporadic sense of substitution. The protagonist no longer has any desire or subjective initiative for wealth, life, fame and wealth, so what are we, the common people, looking for? Do we think literary youths will become hysterical? The protagonist and the editor talk in a cloudy way. They should live in books and prose, not the real world in the book. Do literary giants have to be so literary and pretentious? Brother Xun also had an interesting story about "I bought Lao Zhang's book for my mother, and I hurriedly explained it when I met a friend." However, there is no trace of humanity in the protagonist, which seems to be a symbol of a collection of thoughts after reading. But it feels good to skip all the dialogue chapters between the protagonist and the editor, or the protagonist's chapters, and only look at the side descriptions.

Maybe it's because I like it or not, but I don't like it. I haven't read much, but I feel like it's pretentious. To tell the truth, you are just a literary copycat. You are not the original author. You act like you are the original author and deliberately rely on your mood to speak. There are many things that are said to be good. They are not just white articles. They show that they are advanced. In the final analysis, they are just time-traveling literary copywriters. Don't deal with those vain people.

No malice, I simply want to ask the protagonist why a plagiarist is so depressed as a literati? Why does he act like he's not seeking fame or fortune even though he's doing things that are going to jail in the modern era? Why are you copying books when you are so hesitant to just wait until death?

First of all, for some malicious complaints about the main character who is clearly a copycat and pretends to be a copycat. If you don't like reading, you can leave, but if you insist on complaining, then you are not here to read, you are here to cause trouble. In fact, the author's attitude is really not very good recently. At first, he updated twice a day, and then once a day. In the past, he was missing one update a day, and he even apologized and explained the reason. Now, he is missing one update a day, and he doesn't even say anything. It is estimated that the author no longer wants to write a book, and it is unlikely that this book will be completed.

Kawabata Yasunari was sentimental and lonely because he lost his father and mother when he was young, and then his sister and grandparents died one after another. In addition, he believed in Zen Buddhism. His middle age was the war period, and then he experienced the post-war reconstruction period. He experienced these things in his life. He could commit suicide with a gas pipe in his old age because of these experiences. If you understand history, you should know that the experiences of Japanese writers during this period were similar. After the Meiji Restoration, Japan was fully westernized and modernized. Writers during this period were influenced by the feudal ideas of their families and also by Western capitalism. At that time, there was social turmoil, World War I and World War II broke out one after another, and imperialist ideas were rampant. People like Akutagawa Ryunosuke were famous in their own right. The ethnic group is more susceptible to the influence of the times, coupled with the later illness and social unrest, suicide is too normal. There is also Dazai Osamu, who is deeply influenced by Marxism ideologically. When he participated in the Communist movement, he realized that the landlord class is different from ordinary people, and the guilt is +1. At this period, he already wanted to commit suicide, not to mention that he failed to commit suicide several times in the later period. Instead, other women were involved, and the guilt was +3. Dazai Osamu himself was also suffering from illness in his later period. Coupled with the guilt and the pain of experiencing the war, he committed suicide. Whether it is the Snow Country or the disqualification in the world, they are all the products of these writers after experiencing this period. What has the male protagonist experienced? A civil servant still does this? Especially "Disqualified in the Human World". Dazai Osamu's later works can be said to be the autobiography of Dazai Osamu's life. What things did the male protagonist go through that could lead to the writing of "Disqualified in the Human World"? There is such a loophole in the copywriting itself, and everyone will ignore it. If you don't, you have to let everyone pay attention to it. My male protagonist can write this kind of work. On the one hand, I am a genius, and on the other hand, I have experienced a lot. It fits the personality of a Japanese genius author, who is lonely, sentimental, believes in nihilism, and has extreme thoughts. Although his body has become smaller... He can move, but his heart is already dying.

The writing style is okay, but as a copywriter, can I stop pretending to be original? Maybe people who have read the original work will have some feelings. As a reader, don't pretend to be the original author. It's a bit disgusting.

I can't keep up the chase, I'm pretending too much, you've already pretended to Chapter 70, can you give me some main plot? It's enough for everyone to read these words and read forty or fifty chapters. After all, everyone is here to read the novel. The seasoning of feeling spring and autumn is good, but I always feel spring and autumn 😅

He went to sea and became a pirate again (ノ๑`ȏ´๑)ノ⌨

The first part is really amazing. The author describes the protagonist not as a simple copycat, but as a story teller. The reason why a masterpiece is a masterpiece is because it can arouse people's imagination and lead them to think in a specific period and in a specific social environment. But as for this part of the Chunqin copy, I can only say that the author has a literary problem. He used exaggerated narrative techniques to describe this paragraph, but the inner emotions were not described enough, which made me feel very disconnected when reading it. I can see here: the emotion of a mediocre piano player who knows he is mediocre but does not admit his mediocrity, who hopes to get attention but knows that this is impossible to achieve at all, is not consistent with what Chun Qinzhao described. It is just a deformed 'resonance' caused by that kind of twisted emotion. The only one is that Haruqin and Sasuke are not recognized by people, but now they are recognized by 'big writers', so they are not recognized because ordinary people recognize them because they have poor vision. They know that they are different from Nian, but they also want to be recognized by people. Their inner conflicts make them use Nian to represent their group of "luthiers" and think that they should get attention. This is the kind of family that lives in a slightly emotionally deformed family. She knows that her father loves her mother, and she also knows that her mother loves her father. But she also knew that this kind of love was abnormal and not recognized by people. This made her doubt whether her parents' love was a 'real' love. This was not recognized, but they did love each other. It made Nian unable to tell others about her parents' love. It made her hide her heart, making him feel inferior, introverted, and refused to open his heart. After being recognized by the 'great writer' and recognized by people, she strengthened her heart and decided to use the sound of her parents' piano to tell people their love. The feelings of the 'luthier' and the feelings of Nian are not actually connected. They are like the intersecting railroad tracks in "Snow Country", but after a brief passage, they will drive away separately, just like in "The Dancer of Izu". It is just because she is the love of a 'dancer', not the love that the profession of a dancer brings her. The final result is actually just that: people just look for "Haru Qin and Sasuke" among the piano players, and "Xunzi" among the dancers.

The protagonist really thinks of himself as a literary giant😄

The book is good, but when reading, I always feel a strong sense of separation. After all, on the one hand, I feel that the book should be written by the protagonist, and on the other hand, I know that it is the copywriter. On the contrary, it is not as immersive as ordinary Wenzhaogong novels. After all, the protagonist with mental problems is indeed a shortcoming.

You are even willing to change the cover rather than finish it normally

I like the first generation very much, I also like Hideko very much, and I also like how the protagonist gets along with them. But I feel that although there are faint traces of the entanglement in Shura Field, the sudden and violent attack makes people feel uncomfortable. I have subscribed to about 120 chapters, but I really don't want to watch the show-off dispute between the first generation and Hideko. Originally, the main theme of the article is quiet, the narrative is slow and moving, and the sadness is quiet. I enjoy it very much. Why do I suddenly have this discomfort and catch a cold? It's annoying. Other friends who have read it, can you tell me in which chapter their Shura field ended? I started looking there

It sounds so hard

Original text: I spent my middle school years in the countryside of Sichuan. At that time, during the Anti-Japanese War, Sichuan, known as the Land of Abundance, did not have an inch of railroad tracks. I don't know why, but when I was young, surrounded by thousands of mountains and ridges, I always loved looking at foreign maps and yearning to travel to distant places. I also felt that the most romantic way to travel was to take a train. Every time I see a train running in the wilderness on the calendar, trailing long smoke, my heart drifts with the smoke, leisurely and fascinated, imagining that I am sitting in a certain window in the row of long windows, the endless scenery unfolds for me, and the destination is thousands of miles away. Waiting for me, it is best to never arrive, so that I will never get off. The parallel double tracks shot all the way from the horizon, like hands reaching out from afar, to take me to the unknown; don't look at it for too long, otherwise you will be hypnotized by it. The young people living in the countryside are so fascinated by the train, probably because it is majestic and slender. The majestic front of the car roars loudly, and the carriages follow with clang. The majesty is really breathtaking. As for the corresponding rhythm of the wheels and rails stimulating the sleepers, it is sonorous and generous at first, then monotonous and hypnotic, and also has a different charm. When crossing the bridge, I looked down at the deep valley. It was as if I was walking on tiptoe without any ground, and my heart was hanging in mid-air with uneasiness. Darkness hit me head-on. Under the hood, I was not prepared at all. It was a cave. You are still in shock, the echoes on the two walls are shaking, and you have sunk deeper and deeper into the appendix of the mountain. The light greets you at the other end of the mountain. At first, there is a faint and indecisive silence. Suddenly, the sky suddenly opens up, and the black hole spits you back into the day. This series of experiences, from surprise to joy, with uneasiness and mystery in between, lasted only a short time but left a deep impression. Pictures The earliest memory of taking a train is when I was ten years old. In the second year of the Anti-Japanese War, my mother took me by boat from Shanghai to Annan, and then took a train north to Kunming. The Yunnan-Vietnam Railway runs parallel to the Fuliang River, relying on the rest of the Hengduan Mountains. The river rolls south and the wheels clang north. I don't know how many bridges I have crossed and how many caves I have passed through. I leaned against the window and watched hundreds of miles of peach blossoms reflecting in the water. I was really jealous and dazzled by the sight. After entering Sichuan, the rigid railway tracks could only call me from a distance outside the mountains. I have to wait for victory to return, and only after entering Jinling University can I have the pleasure of speeding on the Beijing-Shanghai road. It was the summer vacation of my freshman year. I followed my mother back to her hometown of Wujin. The endless railroad tracks stretched into the gentle water town in the south of the Yangtze River. The willows made the sky clear and gently caressed the wheat waves. But half a year later, I took the Beijing-Shanghai Road shuttle bus eastward, but instead of getting off the bus halfway, I went straight to Shanghai. That was the saddest train journey: on the eve of the red flag crossing the river, we left Beijing in a hurry, as mother and son. Fortunately, our son had grown up and could take care of our luggage. The carriage was packed like a box full of matches, but the limbs of the passengers could not be arranged as flatly as matches. Instead, they crossed their arms and legs, rubbed their shoulders and crossed their arms, complementing each other's strengths and weaknesses. Mother still has a seat. As for me, I only have one foot half-stepped on the coffee table, and the other foot is in mid-air, not suspended in the air, but half-riding and half-pressed diagonally between the various limbs of various people. To maintain the "balance of power" in this way, it is of course impossible to change legs, and going to the toilet is even more delusional. When we arrived in Shanghai, we had to fight hard to get out of the window, otherwise we would be caught in the crowd of returning passengers and taken back to Nanjing. After coming to Taiwan, I became even more connected with trains. All express trains, slow trains, mountain and sea lines, are all destined to be experienced on the double track, but the east-west round trip on the Beijing-Shanghai Road has now become the north-south round trip on the longitudinal line. On the fast-turning thousand wheels of wind and fire, the mood of modern Nezha is sometimes the excitement of departure, sometimes the laziness of the return, sometimes the reverie of a clear afternoon, and sometimes the loneliness of a rainy night. The large glass windows bring in the vast mountains and rivers, as well as the cities and villages far and near; the scenery outside the window is endless, and the thoughts inside the window are endless, creating a true blend of scenes. Especially during long distances, when the end station is still far away and neither end can catch up with reality, this is a transitional period when everything is passive and you can be absolutely free to think big and let your consciousness flow wildly. When I was hungry, I bought a box of bento for lunch. Although it was only a piece of ribs and a few pieces of pickled cucumber, it seemed particularly delicious under the high-speed dynamics of the quick view of the scenery. When we arrived at Taichung Station, we took a deep breath from the front of the car. Vendors with platters of snacks hung around their necks swarmed us. The temptation of suncakes and pineapple cakes was always hard to resist. As usual, I buy boxes of them on the bus, not necessarily because of how delicious they are, but because I feel a sweet nostalgia while chewing them carefully, and the overlapping memories of entering, leaving, passing, first traveling, revisiting, saying goodbye, and overlapping on this line for many years, alas, since I was young. The most vivid memories are not on this line, but in Alishan and the east coast. I worshiped Alishan God twelve years ago. The small red narrow-gauge train circled up in the silence of the ancient wilderness, advancing and retreating, crawling on the cliff, hiding in the cave, and calling out again, and the echo bounced back and forth between the cliffs. There is a thread of charming red among the green bushes, which makes even the ancient mountain face lose its expression. Picture Worshiping the Poseidon on the East Coast was nearly three years ago when I and I took the electrified train south from the Northern Circuit. The vast Pacific Ocean, where the sun and the moon emerge, and where the stars are born, cannot be compared to the strait. Looking eastward, we see a despairing blue world. The endless ups and downs of the salty waves are rocking many ports and ships in the distance. It is impossible to reach the edge or explore the bottom. It is difficult to see the thoughts of the Poseidon even if the anchor is thousands of feet away. Along the way, there are strange walls blocking the sky and strange rocks holding the ground. They have been etched by the wind and waves of the ages into the ugliest and therefore the most beautiful shapes. They are arranged on the shore like a hundred miles of open-air art galleries. The knife marks are strong and the signatures of time are chiseled into each piece, which can best satisfy the "stone fetish" of a madman. Not only is the shore rocky, there are also many islands in the sea. The train is out of date, and every island is unwilling to be lonely and start racing with it. After all, they are all prisoners of the sea. The small ones can only run for two or three minutes. The big ones, like Guishan Island, can only chase for ten minutes before giving up. In Saroyan's novel, there is a lonely wild child who always chases behind the train excitedly whenever it passes cross-country. Forty years ago in the mountain country of Sichuan, he was also such a lonely child, looking at the world map leisurely, but not even the train passed by his door. Later, when I traveled to foreign countries and crossed oceans, I often took planes instead of trains. Although the airplane can be thought of as Zhuangzi's joyful journey and Liezi's journey to ride the wind, it disappears and disappears among the clouds, and the procession is ethereal. There are not many changes, and the airplane window is too narrow, making it unattractive to watch over time. It is nothing like the long journey of a train, the hypnotic rhythm, and the ever-changing scenery. Looking out from the wide window, it feels like being in the world, but also like driving out of the world. Therefore, when traveling abroad, wherever the clanging double tracks can reach, I always stand on the platform - a veritable "long pavilion" -, waiting for the masculine and beautiful train to rumble into the station with its momentum to take me to the distant place. During those years in the United States, I took many trains. During the year when I was studying in Iowa City, I often took the train to Chicago to see Liu Liu and Sun Lu. The United States is a kingdom of cars, and trains are not sophisticated. The old-fashioned train to Chicago has a 19th-century feel. It's not very comfortable to ride, but the scenery along the way is endless. Especially in autumn, there is a pleasant and faint smell of burning in the wilderness. The sun bakes all mature things even more mature. The yellow maple leaves mixed with the ocher oak leaves burn all the way to the horizon. Who has seen such a beautiful fire? After crossing the Mississippi River, there was an empty clang on the iron bridge. The shadow of the bridge was like a net, with abstract and beautiful lines, and it suddenly passed through a magnificent wave of smoke. When dusk fell outside the window and the lights of Chicago were getting darker, the old black driver shouted out the station name in a deep guttural voice: Tanglewood!

I really like your work